Please Teach Me How To Play The Bass
by Sensu-No-Osoto
Summary: Patrick Stump is stuck a prediciment when given a challenge by Daryl; one he would rather not do at all, but has no choice but to do because,well, he doesn't let people down. But he needs help,and there's only one person that he wants that from. Peterick.
1. Chapter 1

THIS IS FICTION. IT IS NOT TO INSULT, MOCK, OR IN ANY WAY EMBARRASS THE PEOPLE MENTIONED IN IT. ESPESCIALLY FALL OUT BOY. DEFINITELY NOT FALL OUT BOY. THANK U.

Patrick laughed. What had happened to Daryl with the giant drums was quite funny.

"So, Patrick, what embarrassing thing's gone wrong on stage for you guys?"

Patrick knew Daryl was talking about his band, Fall Out Boy, but swallowed thickly when they were brought into the conversation. He was very cautious to avoid questions about them, considering people always thought it was appropriate to ask them whether they would have a new album, or a new song after their 'decompression', as Pete had put it. Pat smiled at the mention of one of his best friends.

"Pat? You feelin' alright?"

Patrick looked up, startled out of Memory Lane by the sound of the country singer's voice.

"Huh? Y-Yeah, it's cool, just zoned out, that's all. Well, there was once when we had to do this, like, jump thing through the stage with hydraulic power, you know, but, like, you see, there was this whole 'FOB' thing, and we had Jay-Z announcing for us, and it was, like, so awesome, but the hydraulics froze, and we had to, like, _crawl_ through the platform, and it was just, like, so totally embarrassing."

Everyone laughed at Patrick's confession, and Patrick flashed that 'adorable grin', as his friend – that everyone assumed was his girlfriend – put it. Why people came up with that assumption, he really didn't know. Wait, what that you said? Which am I talking about? Oh, both. Sure, his friend since four years old was pretty attractive, _and_ she was his first kiss – if you count cosplaying a Star Wars kissing scene a first kiss, then yeah – but they weren't like _that_. She was actually engaged! But because of all the damn media and their inability to keep those wretched cameras to themselves, she had to secretly elope. Secretly elope! As if eloping wasn't bad enough……but, if the media heard that she was getting married, and NOT to Patrick, her 'alleged' boyfriend, oooh, that wouldn't be too good for Patrick. As for the adorable-ness, he really didn't get a say in what names people dubbed him and his doings, did he? Again, he remembered when Joe pinched his cheek and said that he looked 'like a little kid that was an undercover angel'.

Patrick didn't take that as a compliment in the slightest.

At that moment, Pete had slapped Joe's hand away and wrapped an arm around Patrick, as he usually did, in a way that made Patrick feel insecure.

"Go get your own play thing." He had growled.

Patrick had turned his head from one to the other, annoyed at the idea of being anybody's toy.

"You guys both know that I'm still legally a human being, therefore that would be a violation of the human code of conduct to treat me, a human being, as a belonging of any sort, right…..?"

A hand waved impatiently in front of Patrick's face. He was snapped, yet again, from a memory.

"Patrick? What the hell? Are you sure you're ok?"

The cameras and other recording equipment was resting on the floor in the dining room, and hence the time Patrick finally decided he wouldn't have to smile all the time when someone talked to him. He looked up at Elisa and pursed his lips. "I'm fine. I _can_ daydream without the FBI bringing me to court, you know."

"Sheesh, what's got stuck up your-"

"_Anyhow_, Patrick, I must say that you're quite the musician. I bet you can play any instrument at all!" Daryl said, interrupting Elisa before she could say something _too_ inappropriate.

Patrick smiled, a little embarrassed. "Well, I don't think I'm really any good at playing instruments or anything……."

"Sure you are! Guitar, drums, piano…..you can play it all!"

Patrick was a little taken aback. "Well, maybe not _all_, but a few, I guess."

"Tell you what; I'll give you a challenge – be able to play all the different variety of your instruments by the time you're back for another episode."

"W-wha….?"

"Knew you would agree! Thanks bud!" Daryl thumped Patrick on the back. Patrick almost choked on his own spit, and ended up coughing instead. Daryl chuckled nervously. "Eh, sorry about that, Pat…"

"I-t's, *hack* fine, re-*cough*-really."

Daryl nodded absentmindedly before going off to talk to one off the acoustic guitarist, leaving Patrick and Elisa in bizarre.

"Patrick…?"

"Yeah..?"

"What did he say…..?"

"Oh, nothing really. I just have t learn how to play every kind of drum, guitar, and piano by the time I'm in another episode…."

"What?! That's……!"

"I know,' friggn' impossible, why the hell didn't I say something, and im a total idiot', am I right?"

Elisa smirked. "You know just what I think at the right times, Patty."

Patrick gritted his teeth. "Don't call me that. And that's got nothing to do with the problem."

"What problem? All you have to do is learn to play like some psychotic teenager with that musical disorder that means they can't put down anything that can play 'Mary Had A Little Lamb' for two friggn' seconds."

"That's not it either."

'_The problem is I'm screwed.'_


	2. Chapter 2

I REPEAT. I'M NOT TRYING TO MOCK THE BAND OF MY WORSHIP TO DEATH. OH, AND I DO **NOT** OWN PETE LEWIS KINGSTON WENTZ III OR PATRICK MARTIN VAUGHN STUMP.

Patrick was panicky. There was always one instrument – this_ one – _that always gave him so much trouble that he would get completely frustrated with it that he would give up trying to play it all together. He never got why it gave him trouble anyway; it was THE easiest string instrument to play, according to most of the world. HE felt stupid and ridiculous that he was unable to master it. But – humiliating memories aside – he had to do this. He couldn't – he couldn't just give up on trying. That was out of the question. That meant…….

Patrick bit his lip.

He would have to get help.

------

He joined Daryl for the closing song of the episode, a song that ate at him because of…._him_. Patrick kept his eyes down when the camera was shoved in his face, and answered so melancholy-like and somber that he was sure anyone watching this would be able to tell something was wrong with him.

"This is, uh, actually a song I've been wanting to sing for a long time now…a really long time…"

His eyes, he knew, were hazy, and such the camera people were aware that that was where they 'cut'.

As he adjusted the mike to his height, he glanced up to see if everyone was ready. His cheeks turned slightly red when he saw everyone was waiting for him to give the 'ok' for them to start. He nodded, and the guitar and soft tapping of a tambourine started up, awaiting the start of his melodious vocals.

Patrick took a deep breath and started singing the heart-breaking song.

------

After they finished the episode and left Daryl's house, Patrick thumped his head against the car seat's headrest that sounded in a solid 'THWACK' again. Elisa turned to him in annoyance. "Why the hell do you keep hitting your head like it's going to make your problem go away? You know, it's not like Big Bird; it won't hightail if you just kick it in the nuts." Patrick gave her the 'what the hell are you talking about' look, in which she plainly responded: "Don't ask." He sighed and stared out the window, his eyebrows furrowed. Elisa sighed; Patrick must be really frustrated. "Look Pat, I know you can do this. As long as I've known you, you've never given up on anything. So don't start now, k? It'll make you look bad, so that means it'll make ME look bad too. I can't have that, can I?" Patrick heard the sarcastic-ness in her voice and smiled. She was right. No, no – not about the make her look bad thing. He wasn't about to just give up.

------

At the hotel, Patrick lay on his single bed, listening to the buzzing of the air conditioner unit. Elisa was asleep in the next room over, and her soft but audible snoring kept Patrick awake. But that's not it. He also thought about who would help him. Joe could, but he was always busy with his fiancé, so Patrick mentally scratched him out. Andy….wait, Andy was only drums. Damn it. Gabe…..would be totally unserious about the whole thing and probably more likely keep Patrick from practicing; plus, he would be busy getting laid with Ryland. And he didn't play an instrument at all. '_Wait, why did I even consider him…?' _Patrick frowned; his options were minimizing rapidly. Ryland…would be busy getting laid, Vicky-T was piano, and the rest…well, Patrick just thought Cobra were all a bit weird. He went through All Time Low, Blink-182, Panic! At The Disco; even Boys Like Girls, who they played with once, but there seemed to be a problem with all of his choices – so and so didn't play that, whoever wasn't too good at this, and… none of them were Pete. _Pete._

Patrick's eyes widened. Of course. He'd completely overlooked his best friend. However, as soon as he considered him, he slashed at the thought ruthlessly with reality mixed along with stupid excuses. _'He's spending quality time with his family...Bronx and Ashley...he deserves to be able to do that without anyone cutting in…not even me. Anyway, I bet he's seen enough of me and Andy and Joe…I don't want to ruin it for him. I won't.' _But Patrick found even as he thought this to scold and batter and destroy mercilessly the thought of Pete teaching him, his hand was reaching for his phone. By the time he realized what he was doing, it had already dialed the first four digits of Pete's number. He cursed and slammed his phone shut. Sometimes he swore his hand had a mind of its own.

------

The next week was spent making calls to friends and getting rejections and excuses and apologizes; _this_ was going _nowhere_. Patrick rubbed at his eyes after he had just called Brian; taking care of his mom because of her broken leg. It seemed everyone had to do something else important that took longer than a day. He went into the kitchen to get a bottle of water. As he opened the fridge, he glanced up to check the time. 5:37. As his eyes wondered back down, they glued to the pictures on the fridge door. There was one or two of him and Elisa, a few with his family, the whole crew in some others (Fall Out Boy, their technical people, all their friends…), several with just Fall Out Boy - some kinda weird - and some with just Pete and Patrick.

Patrick's eyes lingered on those the longest. The one where Pete had an arm around his waist, and made bunny ears behind his head with the other. The way the picture was taken, it looked like they were falling. They were, actually. Pete had slipped on some bear bottle that Dirty left lying around. He'd grabbed on to the nearest support.

That happened to have been Patrick.

The picture wasn't _meant_ to have been taken, someone accidently dropped the camera and it took the picture. But, it looked natural anyway, since Pete was a bit drunk and smiling, and Patrick had just heard one of Andy's jokes. So Patrick was still smiling. They looked happy. And Patrick ended up with this picture because Gabe it to him for Christmas, smirking and saying _things_ about it.

It was a wonder to Patrick how so many people said he was a nice person, yet he had so many asshole friends.

Patrick had said that that was a stupid picture, and that he'd throw it away. Two lies, but he said them anyway.

------

Patrick awoke that night and almost fell out of bed. His phone usually never rang when he was having his sleepy hours. Everyone who knew Patrick also knew that waking him in the middle of the night was a VERY unwise thing to do, unless someone was dying, dead, or having a baby. He liked his sleep much, and did NOT enjoy it disturbed. He groggily glared at his cell before flipping it open without bothering to check the number. _"What?" _It was supposed to come out full of anger, promising injury if the situation wasn't a life and death thing; instead it came out one octave short of a whine. He really just wanted sleep, and nothing else. There was silence on the other end of the line. Patrick was just ticked off by now. Someone _calls him_ in the _middle of the night_ and they don't even say anything. Patrick sighed. This better not be a prank call. _"What is it?' _It still sounded like a whine, but Patrick didn't care at this point.

The pillow was calling softly to him.

"Dude, are you _masturbating_?"

Patrick stiffened, then relaxed, feeling more irritated yet a little happy.

"Peter, I am NOT masturbating. I don't know what the hell made you even THINK that."

"Well, you sounded kinda-"

"I was _sleeping_."

"Right."

"What do you want Pete?"

"Huh?"

"You _called_."

"Uh huh. I just wanted to know if something was up Tricky. You haven't called in like, two weeks."

Damn it. Wentz just _always_ thought if Patrick didn't call in more than a week that there was a major problem in his life. He was right again.

"Yeah, 'course Pete."

He knew that Pete could tell he was lying.

"You can tell me Patrick. I mean, I _am_ your bestest friend."

Patrick ignored the laughable and sappy way Pete said the last part and spilled everything. At the end of his rant was silence again. Patrick was starting to think Pete probably fell asleep during his thing, and puffed.

"Still awake Wentz?"

It was a few seconds later that Pete answered. "Why not me?"

Patrick was surprised by the answer.

"W-What?"

"Why not me?"

"Why not you _what_?"

"I can teach you, can't I? Or am I not good enough?"

Patrick could tell Pete was a bit pissed that Patrick hadn't called him of all people.

"No! I mean yes! I mean…..yeah your good enough, but …"

"But what? You don't _want_ me to teach you?"

Patrick couldn't believe that's what Pete thought. It was totally the opposite.

"No. I mean yeah but…..I didn't want to…cut into your…..personal time…"

Patrick felt really stupid right now.

Pete chuckled. He _chuckled_. Patrick was on the other line having trouble saying _words_ and he was fucking _chuckling_.

"What is so funny about that?" Patrick snapped.

"Pat….I can't believe _I'm _saying this but…..you can be such an idiot."

Now Patrick felt confused _and_ stupid. Nice Pete.

"Wha-"

"Trick, _you're _part of my personal time."

Patrick was at a loss of words. He felt the involuntary blush spread over his nose to his cheeks, no matter how hard he really tried to stop it. When Pete realized he wasn't going to get an answer from that, he continued.

"Expect me."

And he hung up.


	3. Chapter 3

NOT MEANING TO INSULT ANYBODY.

Ooooh, for once I'm doing a chapter as a present. It's to my very lovey besty best friend, **ea4life11**! Happy (belated) Birthday! Wait, it's not belated yet, it's only 11:45…..so, Happy Birthday! I hope you enjoy this chapter and your hello kitty – with ears – beanie! *gives birthday cake with '13' candle on it* I know; your older than me now. Grr.

Patrick drank his second cup of coffee in almost two chugs. He hadn't gotten much sleep in the last two days since the call. _'What did he mean "expect him"?' _He rubbed his eyes and went to take a shower. As he lathered up, he froze. He quickly turned to look behind him, and felt like an idiot after he did. It's just…he _swore_ he felt _something_ staring at him. He shook his head, shaking the thought off. After he'd dried and dressed, he went online to look at lessons. It was humiliating, but it needed to be done.

After a few hours of searching and downloading, he felt hunger creep up on him until he could ignore it no longer and took his car down the road to the deli. Choosing a simple turkey sub, he felt his phone vibrate and checked the text. Andy wanted to know if he'd found anyone to help him out. Patrick's heart sunk. He'd almost forgot about it when he was able to delve in the bliss known as a sandwich. He texted back 'no', finished off his soda, and went back home. Patrick's eyes flickered to the rustling bushes. It was late by now, late enough for his eyes to play tricks on him. He ignored it and went inside. He was about to flick the living room light on when he felt breathing on the back of his neck. Two arms wrapped around him before he could get a word out.

"Hey Tricky."

Patrick managed to push the guy away when his grip lessened and turned around to give this guy a piece, when he was faced with a bemused Pete on the verge of laughing.

"Pete! Don't DO THAT!" Patrick face flared.

Pete was almost doubled over with laughter now, rubbing at his eyes as they watered.

"Dude, you should of seen your face! You were like 'oh!'-"

Here Pete made a surprised face.

"And then like 'uuuhhhh!'-"

"Pete made a scared face.

"And now you look like a strawberry! Well, it goes since you're a strawberry blonde."

Patrick was completely humiliated by now. Beyond belief.

"Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third, that was NOT funny! I thought – I thought-"

Pete's laughing lessened. He looked at Patrick.

"What, you thought I was a real attacker?"

Patrick nodded quickly, not bringing his eyes up.

Pete was silent, then said, as if matter-o-factly;

"Dude, no offense, but you'd be in deep shit if I was. You're punch is almost as sucky as catching a ball."

Patrick gave him the look, then it dawned on him.

"What are you doing here Pete?" He asked slowly.

Pete smirked before flopping on the couch. "I did say expect me. Didn't I?"

Patrick's opened and closed his mouth several times before sound could depart him.

"Wha- but-but why? I thought- you didn't-…what?"

Pete chuckled. "Speak coherently Pat. I can't understand a word your saying."

Patrick took a deep breath before speaking. "I didn't get what you-"

"Meant? I meant exactly as I said. Expect me. That's why I'm here."

"But _why_ are you-"

"To make you learn. You _do_ have to master the bass, right?"

"Yeah-"

Pete stood up and walked over to Patrick's guitar stands and slid the only bass there up easily. It had the infamous bat heart symbol. Pete had given it to Patrick as a birthday gift a couple of years back when it just came out. He walked back over to the couch and sat. Patrick just stood there watching him. After a few minutes, Pete looked up at him expectantly. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the confused look on Patrick's face, and motioned the couch, patting the seat beside him. Patrick nodded slowly before taking the seat offered to him – in his _own house_, mind you – and sat, awkwardly staring at the already too well memorized dent in the wall when he dropped his microwave, the gray-ish streaking smudge that was caused by him catching his T-shirt on fire when he tried to make breakfast and well…..he kinda forgot there was a sink in the kitchen.

Pete handed Patrick's bass to him and reached over him across the couch, plucking up his own blue clandestine one. He gave Patrick his equally infamous smile.

"Ok Trickster, basics time….."

------

Late into the night, Patrick started to get the hang of it. The chords were a little less confusing, and Patrick could smell Pete's Bone Daddy cologne. Not that he noted that it smelled like pumpkins, pine trees and a little _tiny_ bit of chocolate. But as I said, it's not like Patrick added that as something to remember. Not at all. Pfft.

Just as they had almost gotten basics down, Pete stopped abruptly and flipped open his sidekick, frowning at the tiny screen as if it was to blame for something. "Shit", he muttered. Patrick was confused as to Pete's reaction. But he suddenly realized that it might be later than it seemed. Well, he pretty much guessed from Pete pulling on his shoes and putting his guitar back in the case that Pete must have been running late for….well, home time. Family time. And Patrick felt new guilt wash over him.

"Pete, you know that you didn't have to come right? I mean dude; family, remember?"

"I told Ashley I was coming here. She didn't mind." Pete stopped tying his laces for a second before he chuckled a bit, then continued. "You really sound like you trying to get rid of me Pat."

Patrick stared at his shoes. "I'm not; it's just that your family is more important than having to teach me how to play some instrument."

Pete seriously looked at Patrick; Patrick felt very uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Your both very important."

He went back to tying his shoes.

Silence.

Patrick really wanted to break the silence.

"Um….so, how exactly did you get here Pete? I mean, I don't see your car or anything…."

Pete grinned sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, about that…it kinda…sorta…got a bit totaled. I took a cab."

Patrick's eyes widened. "How did it get totaled?"

"Well, I went to a monster truck derby….and I had a few beers and raced this trucker dude and bet that if I beat him I get his truck, and if he won he got my to do whatever he wanted to my BMW."

Patrick watched, waiting for Pete to continue.

"He won."

Patrick flinched; poor BMW.

"Pete, that was pretty stupid. Even for you."

"Ouch Trick; burn. But yeah, I think Gabe slipped something extra in my drink."

"Uh huh."

Pete called a cab. It would be there in ten minutes.

Patrick furrowed his eyebrows. "If you took a cab. How long exactly were you out there?"

Pete grinned.

"Long enough; probably an hour or two."

Patrick gaped at him. "Why didn't you just call or something? Then you wouldn't of had to do that."

Pete shrugged. " I guess it never crossed my mind. After all,-"

Pete gave Patrick his _look_.

"I wanted to get to your place whether you were here or not; you getting here after me became the perfect scare tactic." He looked out the window and saw the cab pull up. He quickly picked up his case. "And I wanted to see you."

He winked at Patrick before letting himself out.

Patrick watched Pete leave through the window and just, just stared.

He _must_ be asleep.

Because there was no way in hell that his best friend had just flirted with him out of the public eye.

Fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

Well yeah, I have weird update timing…..I only do it when I feel inspired….which is a very rare thing. As you can see. Uh, well, yeah. Um, I'm going to make this short….yeah, I've realized I've neglected "College Surprises" barely a couple of chapters after I said I wouldn't put it on hiatus. *feels like such a hypocrite* I'll get back to it if a certain _MASASHI _would give me something to work with! *cools down* Okay, long story short, I'm going to probably work on the next chapter for it in a while. Like 'a-week-or-two' kind of while. Not making any promises. I hope I haven't lost viewers! *concerned* Ah, well, gomen that this ended up long. It starts…..NOW!

Patrick picked up his backpack gingerly, then put it back down. He picked it up again, walked around his house to check if he had anything out of place, did his laundry, stuff like that…..to put it bluntly, he was stalling. Big time. One word, one name, one syllable; Wentz.

Patrick shuffled over to his guitars and picked up the one he had to bring with him slowly, still trying to unsuccessfully stall with what little time he could. He sighed; he seemed to be doing that a lot these days. As he walked out to the garage, all the while checking his messages, replying, and pulling out his keys, he wondered why exactly he was doing this and why this was happening. Going to Pete's place, learning from him - neither willing or unwilling, and why Pete's seemed so much closer than usual; no, not in the good way.

Patrick had a feeling in his gut; now, this wasn't necessarily a _bad _thing, but it wasn't a good thing either, and that's what had Patrick nervous. He was nervous and he didn't know why. Good god, that was enough to make him _more_ nervous; he didn't even know what the hell was wrong with him. _'Great Patrick; this is just really great. Keep this up and you'll throw up on the way there.'_

Patrick shook his head, took a deep breath, and turned the key in the ignition.

He reached the Wentz's, a big, deep green house in a few minutes. He pulled into the drive way and climbed out of his car, almost tripping over a toy car. He picked it up and walked up to the front door, ringing the doorbell. Ashlee answered, looking at him in a surprised, and maybe a little irritated, way. In one hand, she had her cellphone, and in the other was a summer catalog of Victoria's Secrets.

"Patrick? What are you doing here?" Her voice was probably a bit short of being hostile, if not forced to be partially nice.

He looked down at the ground, staring at his shuffling feet before shifting it to the doorframe. "Umm…Pete."

She nodded her head in understanding, though didn't seem to like that answer. Her face turned up as if someone had tried to push trash up her nose. "Fine. He's upstairs." She went back to the living room, plopping herself on the couch and ignoring Patrick when she went back to continue her conversation, pointedly talking way too loud. Patrick passed her by, hoping really bad that it wasn't gunshots she was staring into his head.

He thudded up the stairs, his shoes squeaking slightly. At the door of the nursery, Patrick heard some muffled crying. He knocked softly, and after getting nothing other than more crying for a response, he opened the door. Bronx's little frame was face down in a circle of toys, letting out tiny little sobs into his folded arms. Patrick crunched his eyebrows together in concern and endearment, slowly walking to the play area and crouching over, rubbing Bronx's back softly.

He brought his tiny head up and looked at Patrick with his watery puffed up brown eyes. "Uckle Twicky….?"

Patrick smiled. "Yeah, I'm here."

Bronx sat up, his pamper-covered bottom crinkling when he sat on it, reaching his arms to Patrick desperately. "Up."

Patrick lifted him up into his arms across his front, Bronx's head resting on his shoulder snugly. Patrick rocked from foot to foot, humming Lullabye very softly. The vibrations and the tunes coming from Patrick had Bronx's eyelids drooping, and soon he was muttering a tired "Sleepy…" and falling asleep. Patrick rested him in his crib, pulling the side bars up. He crossed his arms, resting his cheek in his palm as he watched Bronx's sleeping form for a little while. He shook his head. "I wonder where you're Daddy is, Bronx…"

"Number one question of the day. The answer: right here."

Patrick piped up, raising his head at the voice. "Pete?"

He heard the footsteps come to a halt beside him, and he saw Pete out of the corner of his eye lean over the crib too, stroking Bronx's hair.

He turned to face him and frowned. "Where were you? Bronx was crying, and Ashlee obviously wasn't conscious of the fact her son was sobbing his eyes out." He said, not able to keep a hint of upset put of his voice.

Pete held up his hands in defense. "Don't chew _me_ out dude, I was in the bathroom. I thought she was up here with him."

"Well, she wasn't."

"…Sorry….?"

Patrick sighed, slouching against the crib. "Nah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to burn off on you."

"Uh…..problems…..? That I should know about…?"

"Well, except for the bass bummer, I also have to pay a tow fee I got for parking in a place that was definitely a parking space and the police was being too much of an ass to realize that. Then I have to apologize to an old man for cursing in a public restaurant at the table next to him, oh, and did I mention that All Time Low is angry at me for God knows what?"

Pete scratched his head thoughtfully, frowning at the list of Patrick's troubles. "That sucks and blows, man."

Patrick gave a short bitter laugh. "Does it ever."

Pete stared at Patrick a while, then let a grin spread over his face as Patrick stared straight at Bronx, knowing what Pete wanted. He wasn't going to do it. He _wasn't_. After minutes ticking by and Pete leaning in closer every second, that expectant grin not lessening a millimeter and really starting to disturb Patrick, he sighed and let his eyes rest on Pete's face.

"_Yes?_"

Pete grinned grew to what looked painfully wide. "Well, I can make _one_ of your problems dissapear right now, if you want."

Patrick gave him a small smile. "Sure." They left the nursery, going down the hall to the library. Pete opened the door, Patrick following him into the room. The heavy anti-sound door closed behind them with a solid thunk. Pete picked up the bass from the couch, their bodies taking its place. Patrick pulled out his bass from its case, readjusting his glasses and looking at Pete expectantly, pick in his hand, his fingers poised at the strings in waiting. Pete smiled, getting his bass ready too.

"Right, where did we leave off…um, ok, you have to, like, keep your fingers really steady so that….."

Patrick listened to Pete closely, really trying to remember everything he said. It wasn't his fault that _every single time_ he tried to copy whatever Pete had done then looked up, Pete had a strange overly-emotional look on his face. Well, overly-emotional over someone like Patrick. It was really distracting and slightly nerve-wrecking, making his fingers and words stumble over one another.

Pete put a hand on his shoulder after a few more 'sorry's and 'aw, man's left Patrick's mouth in quick flurries. He looked at him with a slightly quizzical look. "Are you ok dude? It's just that….uh…..you weren't….._this_ bad last time."

Patrick wanted very much for Pete to remove his hand. It was supposed to be comforting, yes, but it made him more anxious then anything. His eyes shifted around the room, clearing his throat as he did so. "I'm 'k. Just kinda out of it."

His shoulder felt like it was tingling, and he sucked in a silent breath when Pete's hand slid down to his arm instead.

Pete leaned his head slightly closer. "You sure that's it? Even before, when you were sending Bronx to sleep you seemed..."

Patrick's eyes snapped up to Pete, his mouth falling open just slightly. Pete's eyes widened a tiny bit and he rewinded his words, rephrasing them. "I mean, I guessed you, uh, sent him to sleep, you know, since you were by the crib and he was um…sleeping. I mean, pfft, _I_ wasn't there. Using the el bano."

_That's a pretty lame cover-up, _Patrick thought, but he didn't vocalize his thoughts. His breath was stuck in his throat anway. He couldn't say anything, not when Pete was resting his forhead against his and staring straight into his eyes*.

Patrick didn't move his eyes from Pete's at all, but he could tell Pete was frowning. "That's strange. You're face is hot, but don't seem to have a fever."

Patrick pulled his head away and scooted away from him. "I told you, I'm fine."

When he looked up again, Pete had somehow returned them to their previous position with their faces close together. Pete's breath was ghosting over his lips, and the worst part about it was that he could do nothing about it. He couldn't move, he couldn't blink, he couldn't breathe.

"Are you….sure you're….." Pete whispered, blowing more hot air against Patrick's sensitive skin.

Patrick shuddered, keeping his eyes locked to Pete's. There was something different in Pete's eyes this time, different from the times he looked at him now, and Patrick suddenly had a long forgotten reel playing in his head from the times when those looks were actually for him, and him only.

The reel stopped, jammed up somewhere because of the idiot who didn't know how to work it. It brought Patrick back to what was happening, what was about to happen, and what could be happening if Pete moved just a millimeter closer.

Those looks…they weren't for him anymore. They weren't meant for him.

They belonged to Ashlee, and he couldn't have them. No, he would be the bigger person. A vicious circle was not about to happen. Not on his watch; not his fault. Never his fault.

He glared at Pete, shoving him and then punching him in the face.

Pete fell off the couch, landing hard on his side. Patrick could still feel the blush on his cheeks, but that wasn't important right now. He shot up off the couch, grabbing his bass and throwing it into its case. Patrick felt tears gathering in his eyes and blinked fast, trying to keep them at bay.

Pete starting to get up, rubbing at his cheek and jaw, moving it around. He looked up at Patrick, their glares mirroring each other's for a second before Pete saw the unshed tears in Patrick's eyes.

"You fucking think you can just…after all that…..you think I still…." Patrick turned his head away, letting the tears fall over his cheeks for a second before wiping them furiously from his eyes.

Pete's eyes widened as Patrick's words hit him in the face like a ton of wet cement bricks. Patrick picked up the case, swinging it over his shoulder and slipping his shoes back properly over his heels. He tore the door open and stomped out and down the stairs as Pete got to his feet, his face starting to slightly bruise, trying to catch up with Patrick. He gave dozens of excuses and apologizes, each one making Patrick more and more inclined to buy a gun and cry while it rested against his chin.

"Patrick, I didn't mean to…."

_Bam. _

"Sure you didn't."

"That first night with her…it was just a mistake….."

_Wham. _

"So was I a mistake 'that first night' too, Peter?"

"I wasn't going…Patrick, I swear I didn't plan it with her….it just happened!"

_Slap. _

"That comforts me so much. I'm glad I finally know that."

"I really did care for you."

_Kick. _

"I'm elated that there's so much past tense in your care."

"If you just forgave me…..everyone makes mistakes, Patrick, even you!"

_Punch. _

"Not like that Pete. I have _never_ made a screw up as bad as you did."

"Fuck Patrick, you never listen! If you would just…..let me explain…she meant nothing that first time….."

_Rip._

"Oh, I'm _sure_ she means a whole lot fucking more now, doesn't she? Wife, mother of your child, a Simpson…everything I couldn't give you, right? Of all the things I gave you, things I'll _never _get back –you know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you, Mr. 'I-Think-I'll-Fuck-A-Lightweight-_Virgin_-Minor-Who-Just-Had-Four-Fucking-Beers' – you couldn't just have accepted the facts. A guy, a guy, and, guess the fuck what? Not a woman who thought you just looked 'hot under the club lights'."

Patrick flung the front door open and thundered down the stairs, stopped, turned, and threw the toy car he had at Pete, who was just staring at him from the doorway. Pete ducked out of its way in time, cursing under his breath as he did so.

Patrick didn't turn back to see if he was ok. He didn't turn back to apologize. He made his way to his car, not stopping for a second.

"And you know what Pete? You know _fucking_ what? After all that, you want to come and try to….I don't even know what you thought you were doing. Trying to 'fix' things? You didn't even _care_, Pete. That's the biggest fucking problem. No 'hey Patrick we need to talk' or 'it's not you it's me'. You just had the fucking night of your life with her and left me like shit to put myself back together!

You _knew_ Pete; you knew I saw, and yet you couldn't even break up with me properly. Not a word. Not even a fucking note. It just _stopped_, and yet you acted like nothing ever fucking _happened_ between us! And, like the fucking loyal best friend I was, I went with it, just loving every minute I spent with you, trying so hard to see you as a good friend, and a good friend _only._

After _years _of that pain, I finally started to get over you, finally start to try and force myself into believing 'hey, maybe this was just a fling. I wasn't into him much anyway.' Then here you come, years later, and try to get in my fucking pants when your _wife_ and _son_ are in the same _house_."

Patrick gave a bitter laugh as he reached his car, unlocking the door. "And you know, after all that, after all the _hell _you put me through with me walking in on you and the different girls and the heartbreak and the blatant talk about _our_ past , you know all I have to say to you about that?"

Patrick opened his car door. "Go to hell."

He climbed in. "I won't be needing you're lessons anymore."

Pete stared in complete shock and defeat, not moving a muscle since Patrick started. The car door shut and he locked it, turning the ignition, and sped away from the Wentz's residence.

^Here is sole proof why you should listen to the feeling in your gut^.

*- A lot of the time, in mostly asian culture, it seems that people can tell if you're sick if they rest their head against yours. Only proof i have is doujins, so please just leave it alone if I'm incorrect.

Wow. Longest chapter I've ever written. Well, what do you think? Pete and Patrick's past kinda vaguely gets exposed in here, and if you're smart, maybe completely revealed. Not much about bass lessons anymore, huh? I guess you'll see in the other chapters. May have different outcomes than you'd first think. Very different. But I don't know, it depends on what you _do_ expect, ne?

Sorry about 'College Surprises'. I haven't gotten much inspiration and time to work on it, and I have a very good explaination for it. My laptop broke and the only other option I have to write any of my stories on is my sister's own, considering that I wouldn't know how to explain to my not-so-gay-friendly father and not-so-gay-friendly mother that their daughter is writing very-gay-friendly stuff on his computer. And she's going to college in about a week, so I really wanted to post something on here before that happened.( And I'm posting another Peterick called "Kept Inside', so please, if you like Peterick, you may want to check it out. It's more emotional and stuff, with deaths and suicide, but it's something different.) I probably won't be able to work as much, but I'll really try hard when she visits (and I get to hold her laptop hostage) to write as much as possible and update as soon as I can. I'll probably go over to **ea4life11**'s house to work on it, but that's when I can. I guarantee no Chinese Democracy.


	5. Chapter 5

I know, I know; don't pester me. I already have less than necessary limited time to write, Kami knows when I'll actually be able to post. You know, dilemma, dad's comp, blah. You get it. I am actually writing this on hotmail, not even a word document. My flash drive has failed me one too many a time for me to trust saving any more on it again. I admit, my sister came up during Thanksgiving & Christmas, and I am ashamed to say I selfishly spent my computer time reading and watching instead of even working a smidge. I know it was wrong of me, and I apologize.

Now, putting those shamefully spent holidays behind me, on to more important topics. As you can tell, I left the last chapter on an obviously bad note, no matter how informative. Well, I can't explain anything without giving away this whole chapter, so all I can say is what I said at the end of the previous chapter. May have different outcomes than you'd first think.

By the way, I know this story is based on assumptions and events and a few facts from about two years ago, but I can't exactly do some time skip and whoosh to 2011 and change it all. No way. So, yes, this is still based on late 2009 to early 2010. Deal with it.

(Oh, I totally forgot; while I've been writing this, I've kinda been picturing Patrick from about the time the video for "What A Catch, Donnie" was being created, and Pete from about that time-frame too, even though there was that whole Daryll thing. Sorry, I wouldn't usually tell readers what to visualize, but there have obviously been so many changes revolving around the main characters and such, that I thought I should just give some insight on what kind of scenario was running through my head. Well, I guess it's not really a scenario, more like just character visualization, but whatever. You probably don't want to see or don't see the same thing I do and I don't expect you too. But if you haven't known what to picture, or what you do picture doesn't feel exactly like how you want it to, this is what I see. Maybe it works for you, maybe it doesn't.) Yeah. I should have put that in the first chapter. Oh well.

Patrick awoke, drenched in sweat and breathing in and out sharp takes of air, running his hands through his blonde hair in an attempt to regulate his breathing. He sat up and rubbed at his blue eyes, digging the heel of his palm in until he saw bright flashes of light. Patrick looked around him.

Still in his bed, in his room, in the dark.

Patrick checked the time and saw it was barely a few hours after he'd first fallen asleep, and decided he wouldn't get any more anyway. He hugged his knees to his chest, resting his head on them. So, so real. He remembered it all. It almost felt like it was happening, though he doubted he would have had the same guts to do what he did in his dream in real life. Patrick touched his fingers to his lips as he remembered Pete's warm breath on them, the sudden action of shoving and punching, the look on Pete's face, and his own tears running down his cheeks. Patrick bit his lip at the thoughts.

"Tomorrow..."

He shook himself of the feeling that going wasn't such a good idea, getting out of bed and going down to the kitchen to get a glass of chocolate milk. Opening the black fridge, he reached for the milk. Then stopped. Pete used to get him a glass of milk whenever he had a nightmare or was feeling down or sick. That's actually why he started to like milk cold in the first place.

Patrick quickly grabbed a Capri Sun instead. After slurping down the packet, he went back up to his room and sat at his desk, lifting his laptop top and searching up bass playing. It was all gibberish in his head, and he finally gave it up with a sigh. As he was about to log off and try to go get some sleep, Patrick saw a message pop up. It was an update message. He clicked it and saw the familiar website, his chest slightly thumping. Patrick opened the twitter page (he admitted he secretly followed some), and read the tweet. His eyes widened and his chest clenched.

'petewentz - psyched for bronx's coming lil sis. can't wait.'

He shut the laptop and crawled back into bed, not thinking anything about what he just read. Patrick curled up under his covers, half his face deep in the pillow. He stared at the opposite wall, awaiting it to give him an answer to what he should do.

As usual, the wall did not utter a sound.

Patrick bit his lip as he felt a bubbling sensation in him, not sure what emotion it was this time; he despised the feeling though, that he knew for sure. Determined not to fall asleep, he started reading his four hundred page book on astronomy. His eyes started to slip closed by page three, and he slapped himself in the face, reminding himself that he would not give in to sleep. He was out by page five.

~`~`~`-

Patrick woke with a start to the bright enough rays of mid-morning sunlight hitting him directly in the face through the unshielded window, which was of his own fault that he forgot to draw the drapes. He swung his feet over, the floor not so cold. After locating a hat – which was never far out of reach – and shoving it on his head, he went through his morning routine to get through a day. Expecting to spend the day attempting to become an autodidact bassist, Patrick settled down with the bass in his lap and his laptop to his side as he searched up this and that.

He was less then expecting his phone to vibrate when he specifically remembered he had at least mentioned to everyone that he was to be left undisturbed that day. Sliding it open, he read the text message that was sent to him.

'hey trick u still comin over? i hvnt even finished basics.'

He had forgotten about that. Patrick's chest thumped slightly as he replied to Pete's message. He decided it would be best not to go over to Pete's. Especially not now. A minute later, as he was picking up his pick again, his phone buzzed.

'…why? i was really lookin fwd to u…'

Patrick tried his hardest, as much as he could, to take that as simply to the fact that Pete just missed his friend. Or was bored. Anything but what he hoped it was.

He replied that he was feeling dreadfully unwell, bedridden with a bad case of influenza.

'oh…poor Trick. comin over then. i'll bring chicken soup.'

Patrick panicked. Pete couldn't come, bearing chicken soup and what he knew would also be black licorice, all sympathetic and in a touchy-feely mood to take care of him, then find Patrick admittedly well, free of a stuffy nose, and very much a liar.

Patrick hastily replied, claiming that he seemed to be feeling somewhat better after all, and maybe it was a good idea he took that medicine that he never had in the first place.

His shoulders slumped as he read Pete's reply.

'awesome. pickn u up then. see u in ten.'

Patrick sighed in defeat, accepting the fact that fate had a grudge against him. He closed his laptop and put his bass back in its case. It wasn't like he would be able to do anything more before Pete arrived. Which was quite true, because the next moment – or what felt like it – when he had just sat down in the living room to wait for Pete to arrive, there was the honk of a horn. Patrick went outside and got in Pete's (obviously new) car.

Pete looked over at Patrick, signs of concern on his face. "Hey Trick; are you feeling better?"

Patrick nodded, running one hand up the armrest, not looking at Pete. "Y-Yeah…I-I guess the doc gave me some magic pills or…something."

"Yeah, sure; more like drugged you with some 'happiness-boosters'."

Patrick rolled his eyes and glanced the dashboard, which looked pretty high-tech. "Nice new wheels."

"You like?" Pete stroked the steering wheel almost endearingly. "I named her Alexa. She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Patrick raised an eyebrow at Pete's actions towards the vehicle. "Alexa? You're naming your cars now?"

Pete nodded, not taking his love-filled eyes off the dashboard.

"Wow Pete; better not let the press hear you're getting it on with a car now."

"Don't listen to him baby; he's just jealous."

Patrick almost laughed; Pete could be unbelievable sometimes. He looked out the window as Pete turned on the engine and told himself it was really stupid for him to think that having that dream and feeling nervous about spending time with Pete today meant anything. He still felt that feeling in his gut, but this time he ignored it.

Pete was his best friend, not anything more, not anything less.

At the Wentz's house, Patrick got out of the car hesitantly, remembering how he and Ashlee had left on bad terms last time when she had accidentally called him Patty and Pete kind of went off on her with her about not calling his best friend that. He hoped she wouldn't hold it against him; he didn't even open his mouth to object to her mistake. Pete did.

As the front door opened to Ashlee holding Bronx, Patrick winced at Ashlee's cold stare. Maybe he did wish for too much sometimes. She looked at Pete with a loving look, kissing him slowly and softly on the mouth before handing Bronx to him, glancing at Patrick with a momentary smirk.

He didn't know what she was trying to prove, or what she was getting at, but he felt his fists clench tightly at his sides, one gripping the guitar case until he white-knuckled it.

She raised her eyebrows, cocking her head slightly to the side. "Are you ok Patrick? You're looking a little pale."

Her voice was so sweet, so sickly sweet, that Patrick was sure he just did become positively ill. Pete looked back at his best friend, his eyebrows knitting together when he saw that his wife was right. "Are you still feeling sick? Do you want me to take you back home?"

Patrick gulped, glancing at Pete. He shook his head, breathing out slowly through his nose. "...No. I'm fine."

Pete nodded slowly in understanding, slight concern still in his eyes. "Ok. Come on."

Ashlee went inside, holding the door open. Pete smiled at her as he went in too, though Patrick warily glanced from his shoes to her, hoping she wouldn't shut the door on his face. To his surprise, she politely held it for him too, and he nodded slightly towards her in acknowledgement, confused by her varying behavior towards him. Closing the door, she looked at Patrick, almost expecting. He caught her stare and scrunched his eyebrows slightly, not knowing what she was expecting or what to expect. After what felt like hours, she relaxed her gaze, simply saying, "I'm starting lunch now. Are you staying for it?"

He blinked, not sure what to say. How long was he staying? He was about to say he was sure he'd be gone before lunch came, when Pete cut him off.

"Patrick's gonna stay a bit late; we have a lot of work to do. He'll be here for lunch. Most likely for dinner too." Ashlee nodded at Pete, then returned her eyes to Patrick, silently asking for conformation.

Patrick scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Um...y-yeah. I guess I'm staying for lunch then. And...probably for dinner too?" Ashlee glanced once from Pete to Patrick before nodding again and going to the kitchen.

Pete grinned at Patrick and sat on the couch, setting Bronx to sit in his lap. Patrick sat beside him, simply because it seemed like a polite thing to do. Bronx turned his body around to look at Patrick and grinned, showing of his four teeth, as he started to bounce on Pete's legs and held out his arms to Patrick.

"Ukle Tricky~!"

Patrick felt that slight twist of his stomach again, but gave it no thought. He smiled back at Bronx, glancing up at Pete to make sure it was ok to do what Bronx wanted. Pete nodded, so Patrick took the bouncing baby from his arms and set him in his own lap, feeling his chest swell when Bronx snuggled onto him.

He always felt that feeling when Bronx was in such an affectionate mood towards him. It was probably stupid, but he felt so close to the baby, painfully close, as if Bronx had been his own. But, of course, he wasn't. And he would never be. So Patrick always made sure he never became overly attached to Bronx.

Pete smirked. "You're like a second mother to him. I guess dudes CAN have babies." Patrick blushed, sticking his tongue out at Pete before turning his attention back to Bronx. "Shut up."

Pete ruffled Bronx's hair, standing up and stretching. "So, want to get started?" Patrick nodded, putting Bronx in his bouncer and getting up. Pete rolled Bronx over to the kitchen doorway and gave him his pacifier and rattle toy, then went to the stairs and started climbing them.

Patrick followed, glancing back at Bronx once more as the baby stared at back at him with either a blank expression or that of great wisdom; Patrick wasn't sure. Whichever it was, the effect was ruined anyway by the drool gooping down his chin when he stuck his hand in his mouth and shrieked happily. Patrick smiled and continued his assent.

Yeah. So. I'm splitting this into two chapters. This is basically the first half of what really happens. I hope this chapter makes more sense than the last one; if you still don't get it, it was obviously completely a dream (read: my result of writer's block). Oh, and the next chapter of 'College Surprises' should be up about now, for those who are glaring at me for brushing it aside so. Probably go back into mini hibernation for a bit again, but not exceptionally long. Hope to post more soon.


End file.
